The Witch's Protector
by TheyCallMeGoose
Summary: Rule number one of travelling with the Warden: do NOT upset Morrigan. Oneshot inspired by party banter between Zevran and Morrigan, sometimes including Alistair. Will eventually have sequel oneshot.


_Hello all! I've recently decided to rework all the oneshots I've posted (my old followers should check out my updated profile... and not kill me please?), and this is the new and improved The Witch's Protector, previously titled Don't Upset Morrigan.  
__There's not a great many changes - a different tense and typo corrections mostly, though there may still be some mistakes - apologies if there are. It needed doing however, and now that it's done I can focus on other projects. :P  
__(Yes, before you ask, I've copied this message into all my updated oneshots.)_

_So for new readers, enjoy! and for those who have read this before, enjoy it again if you wish. :D_

-x-

Everything is fairly quiet and peaceful on the road to Orzammar – warm light from the midday sun washes over their skin, birds whistle a merry song as they fly overhead, and anything that could be perceived as a threat to them has been keeping its distance. Leliana hums softly to herself as always, a serene Orlesian tune that seems to be her favourite. Sten and the dog appear to be immersed in an intense and extremely one-sided discussion – the Kossith murmurs something about how counter-productive cleaning one's weapon with one's tongue is, and the dog merely responds with an ignorant huff. Otherwise the party treks onward in a peaceful hush, enjoying the natural harmony of the meadow around them.

Unfortunately the silence breaks, cracked and splintered by a sly and honeyed Antivan accent. Authiel rolls her eyes, not needing to hear the assassin's words to know that whatever is about to come will not end well.

"Has anyone ever told you what beautiful eyes you possess, my dear?"

Zevran has recently taken it upon himself to give the most ice-hearted woman of the group a compliment a day, to what purpose no one yet knows. What is obvious, however, is Morrigan's complete and utter distaste for this sudden obsession, proved once again by how tightly her eyes narrow upon hearing the elf's words. At first she took it all in stride, rarely deviating from her usual air of indifference, yet eventually it began to get under her skin. The witch positively radiates intense irritation whenever the Antivan speaks now, and Authiel is starting to get really rather tired of it all. What started off as a somewhat amusing joke has clearly become a sick game for the Antivan, and the Dalish isn't certain how much longer she can stand to let it continue.

"Again with the flattery, elf? Do you not tire of these pointless exercises?"

"In Antiva, women are accustomed to being showered with the praise they deserve. Men should worship you at your feet as you pass!"

"They don't find that incredibly annoying?"

"They are goddesses receiving their subjects, just as you should be! Whatever would be annoying about that?"

"I have no wish to be placed on a pedestal."

Frustration drips thickly from Morrigan's sharp tone, and Authiel can see the woman's fists clenching and unclenching tightly. The two stare each other down, yellow eyes narrowed in annoyance and amber eyes glowing with amusement - clearly a source of great entertainment for the entire party, judging by how they've all stopped in their tracks to watch the scene in silence. Disappointment and worry escape the Dalish in a heavy sigh. They'll be truly lucky if this doesn't end in bloodshed.

"But you deserve no less! You should be admired by painters, copied by sculptors, exalted by poets! Surely you know that yours is a beauty so exotic, it… why, it would turn the eye of the Maker himself!"

The change in Morrigan, albeit slow, is so wondrous that Authiel's breath is swept away. The witch's features soften from their stoic annoyance to a sweet, hopeful expression. Her fists unclench and a hint of a smile plays around her full lips, transforming her entire face into something truly captivating and beautiful. Every man in the party stare at for a moment, completely amazed, and even Leliana seems bewitched.

"You really think so?" the witch asks in a gentle and cautious voice, betraying the elation inspired by the assassin's sugared words.

Alistair, Creators damn him, pipes up and ruins everything.

"By the Maker, Zevran, you were right! You win, I guess."

"But of course! I think you owe me five silvers, yes?"

The happiness etched on the witch's face cracks like a pane of glass, shattering into an infinite amount of delicate little shards. The surprised delight shining brightly in her eyes bleeds away like a shimmering puddle of fresh water draining away in a gutter, replaced almost instantly by rage and loathing, all frost and steel. _Almost_. Authiel saw the flash of true despair glistening in her those luminous eyes, blinked furiously away along with the tears. She looked so broken and lost, like a _da'len_ with no _mamae_ to comfort her. It hurts the young Dalish to see Morrigan in such pain. It aches deep within her and makes her arms cry out to embrace the dismayed witch.

Morrigan spits a few toxic words at the two men, proclaiming her hate for them both, before stalking off to stand by Bodahn's cart, gaze pinned firmly to the ground. Sandal, Creators bless the boy's heart, places a small and chubby hand on the witch's elbow, muttering his usual 'enchantment' to her in a questioning yet comforting tone. Her eyes slip shut and she spared a weak smile for the boy, yet he refused to move his hand. A faint and clearly involuntary sob escapes the witch's lips and she curses herself under her breath, causing the two men who have not yet realised their crimes to chortle lightly to each other.

Every drop of blood in Authiel's veins suddenly burns. How _dare_ they?! Without hesitation she turns on her heel and marches up to Alistair, planting herself angrily in his personal space. The templar visibly recoils, finally realising just how much trouble he's in. _Too little too late_, she thinks to herself as she backhands her fellow Grey Warden across the face. _Hard_. His squeal of 'hey!' cuts off as she kicks him rather petulantly in the shin – her toes scream in pain within her boot, yet she refuses to complain as the attack successfully shuts him up..

"You stupid, inconsiderate _shemlen_ bastard." She growls at the man staring at her with bewildered wide eyes, hand pressed tenderly against his reddening cheek. "I would curse you to the Creators themselves, but I am honestly not surprised you didn't have the sense to realise you would upset her."

The blonde Warden lowers his head in shame and mumbles an apology, though whether it's directed to her or the one deserving it is unclear. Authiel then stalks over to Zevran, her fury burning hotter at the sight of that infuriating smirk plastered all over his face. Clearly the assassin cares little for the repercussions of his poisonous words. Perhaps he believes there won't be any. _Fool_.

"Now you, I am surprised by. I know you're heartless and I know you are selfish, but you should've known better than to upset such a powerful apostate." One of his oh so perfectly plucked eyebrows rises elegantly and still he smirks, the expression widening at her words. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, and her next words slip from her lips in a venomous hiss. "You disgust me, flat-ear. I am ashamed to be kin to one who plays with hearts so carelessly."

She begins to turn away, more than ready to put some distance between that smug face and herself lest she do something she might regret, when the idiot retorts.

"I wasn't aware the lovely Morrigan had a heart, my dear Warden."

All she sees is red, a deep bloody vermillion that clouds the entirety of her vision. Her angrily shaking fingers curl into a tight fist which she swiftly smashes into the elf's face. Creators, but it _hurts_! Never has she punched anyone so hard! Her hand is definitely going bruise later yet so too will Zevran's eye, especially the points where the studs on her fingerless leather gloves connected with his dusky skin. A feral grin spreads over her lips as the Antivan glares up at her, amber eyes sparking dangerously.

"You two are going to make me a promise." She states, addressing both injured men with a satisfied smile fixed firmly on her face. "You will promise not to hurt Morrigan again - be it by leading her on, betting on her, or simply insulting her. She _does not_ deserve it." Authiel narrows her steel grey eyes at both of them to accentuate her point. "If either of you break this promise… Alistair, I will put you on the throne, and by the Creators, I will make you marry that flimsy excuse for a Queen too. And Zevran, I swear by all that I hold dear, I will not think twice about tying you up and sending you back to the mercy of your Crows. Is that clear?"

They both hesitate for only a moment before nodding their heads. Her stern and disappointed tone has clearly shamed Alistair deeply, and though Zevran tries to appear unruffled by her words a touch of contrition darkens his eyes. Relief overwhelms her – finally she has found a way to stop their little game, to keep her _vhenan'ara_, safe from them. As she turns back to the party, ready to usher them on now that the drama is over, Morrigan subtly catches. The witch looks more than a little confused and very surprised, yet it is the bright and grateful smile on her face that enchants Authiel's heart, lifts her soul and fills her with joy. She doubts that the ice-witch would smile at anyone else like that.

Creators, it was _so_ worth it.

-x-

_Dalish Translations:_

_da'len - little child_  
_mamae - mother_  
_shemlen - quick children, slang insult for humans_  
_vhenan'ara - heart's desire (This refers to the fact that Authiel is in love with Morrigan - I'm working on a oneshot sequel about that)_


End file.
